


And Then the Devil Took Your Memory

by hisfirstnameisagent



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Post-apocalyptic AU, Sadness, i don't even know what this is, really am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfirstnameisagent/pseuds/hisfirstnameisagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shoots straight up in his cot, trying to ignore the pain and reminds himself, "You are James Buchanan Barnes. You were born in Brooklyn in 1995 and you are nineteen years old. It's 2014. The world has ended and your favorite color is....I don't know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then the Devil Took Your Memory

Bucky never really thought this would be how the world would end. Giant asteroid? Sure. Zombies? Hell yeah. Nuclear war? Very plausible. Black hole that would consume the entire planet? Why not. But the plague—or as the scientists liked to call it, "a modified form of the plague, a supergerm that appears to be resistant to any and all forms of medicine"—but still, the plague? It's pretty fucking lame, if you ask him.

Bucky lays back against his makeshift cot. He coughs and closes his eyes.

It had started out small enough, around eight months ago. Just a few people in some third-world country that no one gave a shit about—big shocker there. It had spread though. Rapidly and deadly and everyone had panicked. Riots and looting and suicides. They had every reason to though. First symptoms were a cough and a mild fever, but give it a few days and the sores and organ failure would move in. Soon would be the dementia and ataxia, both which came with the crippling fear of losing not only your motor functions, but also your mind.

Bucky had watched his mother slowly succumb to the disease. He never saw her in her final moments though before his father shoved him out of the house. Told him to always keep his mouth covered and to stay far, far away from people. That was the last time he'd seen either of them.

Bucky coughs again and wonders why in the hell it couldn't be zombies. Zombies, he knew. He'd seen enough of the Walking Dead to know what to do; just don't get bitten. But some invisible disease that appeared to spread through not only direct contact, but was also air-borne and water-borne? Bucky's been scared shitless since this whole thing started. He figures though that he's lasted longer than most people. Hell, half of the world's population had been gone by the third month. That was around the same time the news broadcasts cut out along with the internet.

He hasn't heard much since then. Hasn't even seen another human in two weeks.

A tear slips from Bucky's eye at the thought of it. He had been rummaging through the almost empty shelves at a Wal-Mart, mask on his face. Always on his face. One second, he was holding an expired box of mac-n-cheese, the next he was thrown to the ground, a delirious woman sitting on top of him, clawing at his face. "Are you my son?" She had kept repeating over and over.

Bucky had let out what could only be described as a mixture of a scream and crying. He was only nineteen. He didn't want to die. The sores on the woman's face were oozing and he could feel blood sliding down his face from where she had scratched him. She had grabbed for his mask and tried to pull it off. Bucky hadn't even thought twice about shooting her. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do it and probably wouldn't be the last.

He coughs again and winces when he tastes blood.

" _Shit_ ," he curses. He's spent the past day hoping it was just your every day cold. But he knows better. He knows better. He wipes his mouth and notices the bright red smears left on his hand. "Fuck!"

There's suddenly a noise outside—he's been holed up in an abandoned library for a while now—and Bucky jumps at the sound, grabbing for his gun. He's not sure why it even matters though. He's already infected.

He crawls over to the window, trying to push his bangs out of his face to get a good view. He had tried cutting his hair a few weeks back with a dull pair of scissors, and he'd done a half-ass job at it. Oh well. Good thing he doesn't have to worry about impressing Natasha, the girl next door. She'd been the first to die in the neighborhood anyway.

He peers out of the window and doesn't notice anything at first. Just a lot of scattered trash and overgrown weeds. But then there's movement off to the right and he ducks when he sees a blonde head. He looks again though and notices that there's two people. They don't appear to know each other though, as the blonde guy—wearing a dirty mask—is being chased by the other one, another delirious.

Blonde guy is tall and has a matching blonde beard and his white shirt has a gaping hole in the front of it. Bucky is willing to bet that back before this all started, he had probably been really buff. He's got the muscle tone, just not the weight. Food is pretty scarce these days. The guy is yelling something inaudible and how fucking stupid is he? He's gonna attract every damn person in the city. Bucky enjoys his solitary piece of heaven that he has and blonde guy is _not_ gonna ruin that.

Bucky runs to the door, grabbing his mask and hammer on the way. Once he's outside he tries to whisper as loudly as possible. "Hey, hope you don't mind, but can you shut the _fuck_ up?"

Blonde guy turns to him and his eyes widen in obvious relief. There's a large scar running down the left side of his face and his sneakers are untied. "Oh, thank god," he says and Bucky groans in frustration.

"You can call me Bucky," Bucky tells him before marching past blonde guy and over to the infected person and putting them out of their misery.

____________

Turns out blonde guy's name is Steve and he had been trying to get his masters in secondary education once upon a time. He was from Brooklyn too, born and raised, but Bucky figures there's too big of an age gap for them to have ever really encountered each other. They exchange the tiny details: favorite colors, movies, books, music. But they both know it'd be ridiculous to even try to get to know each other better than that.

And besides, Bucky knows that he doesn't have much longer to live anyway. Make a little over a week at the most. He's already feeling nauseous and he should really tell Steve, but he hasn't even realized how much he's been craving human contact. He's also afraid that Steve would try to kill him if he knew and as much as death sounds okay at the moment, Bucky still wants to hold on to the last bit of life he has. Of course, with the fast rate of the disease, Steve will probably notice he's sick fairly soon.

"I have another shirt," Bucky tells him, eyeing the hole in the one he's currently wearing and Steve looks up from where's he inhaling a can of peaches.

Steve smiles softly, clearing his throat. "You..you don't have to do that, ya know. It's hard to come by decent clothes these days. You ain't gotta give me yours."

Bucky leans over to the small pile of clothes he has and grabs a navy blue shirt. He tosses it to Steve. "Don't worry about it. It might not fit, with those shoulders and all. And here's a new mask too. I snagged 'em from the community college. Yours is looking kinda worn."

Steve holds onto the shirt and mask like they're the most precious things in the world. He closes his eyes and Bucky can tell he's trying not to cry. "Thanks," he manages to say and Bucky hums a small noise in response.

The sun is setting outside and the last few rays of light are shining on Steve's face. His face is dirty and his hair is too long, thrown back in a ponytail. The pink scar cuts through his eye and almost deforms the left half of his face, but he's still attractive in a rugged way. Bucky's willing to bet that just a year ago, this guy was one of the prettiest things to look at in New York. Not that he can say anything though, because Bucky himself has seen better days.

Steve opens his eyes and Bucky doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's staring. They maintain eye contact for a few moments longer before Bucky finally looks away. He stands up and says that he needs to go outside to piss. Steve doesn't reply, just nods.

Once Bucky is outside, he walks around to the back of the library and covers his face with his shirt, hoping to muffle the sounds of his racking coughs. He's suddenly dizzy and he barely manages to take his mask off before his keels over and vomits everywhere. He groans, noticing that he got some on his shoes. He kicks them off into the grass. He has another pair and he only hopes that Steve doesn't notice he was wearing any when he had left.

A bird squawks in a tree beside him and Bucky makes a face at it. Birds had been the only creatures to not be affected by the disease and scientists had been trying desperately to find a cure through them. Of course, the CDC had all but been abandoned long ago.

Bucky wishes he was a bird. Or a scientist.

He waits a minute longer, making sure that the nausea has ebbed before he goes back inside.

Steve is up and about, looking at all of the books on the shelves and Bucky tries to shut the door quietly so he doesn't disturb him. The click of the door catches Steve's attention anyway and he shies away from the books like he was caught doing something bad.

Bucky nods and says, "See anything you like?"

Steve laughs, shoulders relaxing as looks back at the shelf."Well there's always Harry Potter."

Bucky laughs along with him. "I think I've read that entire series at least three times." He pauses, suddenly serious. "It's weird, you know." He's standing beside Steve now.

Steve turns to him. "What is?"

Bucky doesn't look at him as he continues to talk. "Even when we're gone—when _everyone_ is gone—books are still gonna be here. These stories about different people and places and they were written by _people_. And I just, I don't know. It's like, we humans have put so much effort into making these things and it's, it's kinda beautiful that they're still gonna be here. Even when we're not."

Steve stares at him and Bucky turns a shade of red. "Don't listen to me. I've been holed up in this place for too long."

Steve smiles fondly and grabs Bucky's arm.

Bucky jerks away and Steve frowns.

"Sorry," Bucky says. "I...I—"

"Yeah, I get it." He doesn't look mad though. He looks understanding and he takes a step away from Bucky.

And no, no, Steve really doesn't get it. Bucky is selfish for letting himself breathe the same air Steve is breathing. Bucky is sick and dying and could be giving the sickness to this poor guy.

He clears his throat though, walking away from Steve and he feels dizzy again. He sits down on his cot, and reaches for a bottle of water.

Steve is still standing at the bookshelf. "If I've overstayed my welcome," Steve starts and Bucky's head snaps up. His heart starts racing.

" _No_ ," Bucky says. "No, of course not. I just—I haven't been around people in a while."

Steve nods and walks over slowly. He sits down on the floor beside Bucky. "Me neither," he admits. "I've tried to avoid being around people ever since..."

Bucky sucks in a breath.

Steve doesn't carry on with his sentence though. He just looks down at the floor, tracing patterns on the hardwood with his finger and Bucky resists the urge to join him.

"I had a sister," Bucky says before he has a chance to think about it. "And a father. My mom—well, she hadn't been looking too good the last I saw her. But my dad was with her. My sister was in Europe on some school trip. She couldn't come though, what with all the planes being grounded and such."

Steve is just staring at him but Bucky carries on anyway. "The last time I talked to her she'd been crying, talking about the sores all over her body and... and she never answered her phone again. Mom got sick a day later."

Steve swallows hard and Bucky follows the motion of his Adam's apple.

"I'm sorry," Steve says and Bucky nods. "My wife Peggy was one of the first people in the states to be infected. They had her in quarantine and everything. I didn't even get to touch her one last time." He laughs a bitter laugh and Bucky completely understands.

"The world is pretty fucked, huh?" Bucky says and Steve smiles at him.

"Yeah," Steve agrees, voice almost a whisper and the sun has finally set outside, shrouding them in darkness.

 Bucky feels the weight of Steve's hand on his own before he drifts off to sleep.

_________________

Bucky wakes up to a searing pain in his forehead, so excruciating that his eyes can't focus and his ears are ringing. The room around him is spinning and for a minute, he forgets who he is.

He shoots straight up in his cot, trying to ignore the pain and reminds himself, "You are James Buchanan Barnes. You were born in Brooklyn in 1995 and you are nineteen years old. It's 2014. The world has ended and your favorite color is....I don't know."

Bucky begins panicking and is on the edge of hyperventilating when a hand grabs his shoulder. He looks up to see Steve and goddammit, why can he remember him but he can't remember his favorite color?

"It's red," Steve says and Bucky replies by staring up at him blankly. Steve shrugs. "Or at least that's what you told me yesterday."

Bucky slowly starts to nod. "Yeah...yeah that—that's it. It's red." He can remember being five years old when his mom bought him a stuffed elmo doll. His parents hadn't always had it so easy with money and that had been his first Christmas present. Red has been his favorite color ever since.

"Thank you," Bucky says, eyes welling up with tears. His shoulder hurts from where Steve has his hand pressed on it and Bucky realizes with horror that he probably has a sore. The tears begin to fall uncontrollably.

"Hey," Steve says, voice soothing. "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

Bucky shakes his head. "No, it's really not." His voice is groggy from sleep and he sounds absolutely pitiful and he knows he looks a mess.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Steve asks him.

Bucky is suddenly nauseous and he pushes off of the cot and stumbles over to the window, not entirely sure what he's trying to do so he just breathes for a moment against the cool glass.

"You gonna kill me now?" Bucky breathes out. He laughs dryly, "And to think, we've known each other for so long."

There's a sharp intake of breath behind him. "I'm sick too, Bucky," Steve says.

Bucky turns around to see Steve lifting his shirt up and there's the signature sore on his stomach. Two of them. Steve takes off his mask and so does Bucky. It's not like they need them anymore.

"Well shit," Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. He barely knows the guy, but he doesn't want Steve to die. The whole thing is pretty un-fucking-fair. "That sucks."

Steve laughs and coughs a little. "Yeah, it does suck." Steve's hair is out of it's ponytail and it comes just to his shoulders. His blue-green eyes are the picture perfect description of a haunted man though, complete with dark circles and worried lines at the corners and that scar.

"How did you get the scar?" Bucky asks.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek before answering, "I had a place. Some abandoned apartment I had been staying in. Apparently, someone had watched me go into it and they probably thought I had some large supply of food or something. _God_ —I don't fucking know. But two of them knocked the door down, came right at me. One of 'em had a meat cleaver and well, that's that. I got away though, _obviously_."

Bucky isn't quite sure what to say, so he just settles with, "That's intense. A meat cleaver?"

"Yeah," Steve answers, sounding just as surprised as Bucky does. "Who the hell carries around a meat cleaver? I'm just thankful it didn't get infected."

Bucky suddenly has so much respect for this man in front of him. Damn, he almost had his face hacked off and he's brushing it off as if it was nothing. He also seems to be taking the whole dying thing a hell of lot better than Bucky is and Bucky wishes he was half the man Steve was.

"Hey," Bucky starts. "Let's get out of here. Why should we spend our last few days shacked up in some library?"

Steve smiles, "Where are we gonna go? Not exactly like we can hit up the bowling alley anymore."

Bucky grins. "That's a beautiful idea, Stevie."

_________________

They end up at the bowling alley, Bucky running back and forth down the lane to manually set up the pins. Well, more like jogging. Running had taken his breath away and his body has been racked with bloody coughs.

His lower back is starting to throb with pain—probably his kidneys—but he doesn't mention it to Steve.

Steve rolls the ball, hitting maybe three pins and Bucky howls with laughter.

"Oh, shut up," Steve says, face turning red.

"Why didn't you tell me how shit you are at bowling?" Bucky asks between laughs and Steve nudges him with his elbow.

Steve grabs another ball and the determined look on his face is one of the cutest things Bucky has ever seen and Bucky pinches himself. He shouldn't be thinking that.

The ball veers off to the right and Steve groans when it rolls into the gutter.

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky says. "We can't all be professionals at bowling. Some of us are just meant to watch from the sidelines."

"Oh yeah?" Steve questions mockingly, closing in on Bucky. He's a few inches taller than Bucky but not intimidating in the least.

"Yes sir," Bucky sing-songs.

Steve grabs Bucky's upper arms and looks him in the eyes. "You're a little shit, you know that?"

Bucky smiles and nods. Finding out about each others sicknesses had seemed to change the dynamic between the two of them. It's just—it's  _easier._ Bucky hasn't been this happy in a long time. Hell, he thought he'd never remember what happiness was. But if happiness is slowly dying with some stranger who licks his lips too much and who ate all of Bucky's canned peaches, then he'd trade it for anything else in the world.

Steve just shakes his head and stares down at him in exasperation. "It's too bad we took so long to find each other," he says and Bucky tries not to think too hard about the implications of that.

He glances down at Steve's lips, now that he can get a good look at them without the mask. They're unfairly pink and shiny and the scar on his face runs dangerously close to the corner of them.Steve grabs Bucky's chin and nudges it until Bucky is staring into his eyes.

"Hey," Steve says, smiling.

"Hey," Bucky replies, breathless.

They both jump when a loud crash sounds from outside. A shadow of bodies moves across the front windows and Bucky tenses up. It's probably a group of looters and Bucky is more afraid of them than any diseased person. Most of them are usually escaped convicts who enjoy getting some sick satisfaction out of killing others. Bucky isn't ready to die.

Steve curls an arm around him. "C'mon," he says. "We can go out the back."

They've already been spotted though and Bucky hears their shouts as the sound of people running and glass crashing echoes throughout the place. Steve grabs him, tugs on his shirt. "Buck, let's go! Run!"

And he does. Bucky runs fast and hard and is out of breath even before he reaches the back exit, but he doesn't stop and continues out the door and past a few more buildings. His legs are aching and his ribs are hurting but he keeps going. One of them had a baseball bat and the image of it beating into his body over and over again isn't something he'd like to actually happen. 

"Steve," he says, turning to look behind him, but there's no one there. Bucky stops, gasping for air. He turns around and doesn't see Steve anywhere in the abandoned street.

"Steve," he cries out. "Please..no no no no." And he has to go back. He has to. He's weak and he doesn't have any weapons but he can't just leave him. Steve is the only comfort Bucky has had since this whole thing started and Bucky is maybe willing to admit that he cares for the guy.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath before his legs start moving again. There's multiple screams and shouts off in the distance but Bucky can't tell if any of them belong to Steve. There's tears streaming down his face and he knows it's too late. He _knows_ it. He's going to find Steve lying in a pool of blood and there's going to be nothing he can do about it.

He makes it to the corner of a building, crashing into another body as he does so. He and the other person fall to a heap on the pavement and he blinks past the tears to see that it's Steve. It's Steve and he's still alive and there's some blood on his shirt but he's fine. He's breathing and smiling and Bucky is so incredibly happy to see him, so he does the most logical thing to do at that moment and grabs the front of Steve's shirt. He pulls him in, practically slamming theirs mouths together and it's harsh and desperate and dirty but it's everything he didn't know he needed.

Steve returns the kiss with just as much fervor, hands digging into Bucky's scalp and a shiver runs down Bucky's back. Steve pulls away though after a moment, much to Bucky's disapproval.

"I'm happy to see you too," Steve tells him. "But we've gotta go. I lost them back there, but they're still out here somewhere. Let's just get back to the library."

Bucky nods, still a little dazed but he lets Steve help him back to his feet and they're running again.

They only have to stop once for Steve to take a breather, gasping for air and clutching his chest.

Bucky kisses him on the forehead. "It's gonna be okay."

____________________

Bucky had been a virgin. Not that he was a prude or saving himself or anything. He just never really understood what the big hype was behind sex. If he really needed to get off that bad, he could just use his hand. No point in complicating things by doing it with some girl who would want to talk about feelings and a relationship and Bucky was too young to care about being with just one person—let alone, multiple people—for the rest of his life. He didn't need that. He honestly didn't care for that.

But _this_? Laying in a post-sex glow next to someone who was quite honestly the most beautiful person Bucky had ever met? Bucky could get used to this. He wonders if maybe this is why people like sex so much.

He and Steve are laying in a tangle of sheets on the library floor. It had only taken them one look at the cot to decide that it was too small for two people. And it had only taken about thirty seconds to have all of their clothes off and Bucky spread out for Steve to do with him whatever he wanted.

And if Steve had cried, Bucky said nothing about it. They've all got their demons.

"That was," Bucky starts, but he can't really find a good word to describe it.

"Wow?" Steve answers for him and he sounds just as breathless as Bucky feels.

"Yeah," Bucky agrees. "I've been missing out."

Steve chuckles and if Bucky wasn't already dying, Steve's smile would probably take care of that.

"Promise me something?" Steve says and Bucky nods for him to continue. "In our next life—if we have a next life—we're gonna find each other sooner. Things are gonna be better."

"You're talking crazy, Steve," Bucky says, laughing. "What about your wife?"

Steve stares up at the ceiling, almost as if he didn't hear Bucky, but the furrow in his brows shows that he's thinking pretty hard. Bucky feels like maybe he shouldn't have brought it up, but then Steve finally answers. "Well, things change."

And that's all he says but Bucky will take what he can get.

Bucky snuggles closer to Steve and lays his head on his chest. His head hurts again and the room spins momentarily so he squeezes his eyes shut and starts to drifts off to sleep with the weight of Steve's lips on his head.

"You deserve so much better than this life, Bucky Barnes."

_______________________

The next few days are a blur. A blur of conversations and smiles and naked skin and Bucky never wants it to end.

But on the fourth day, Steve wakes up and forgets who he is. He pushes Bucky into a bookcase and Bucky is too weak to fight back. The both of them are unnaturally pale and and he's pretty sure he's coughed up more blood than he even had in his body to start with. So yeah, he's weak and he doesn't fight back when Steve throws a punch. Bucky falls to the floor and he can feel the split on his lip. But still, he makes no move to stop Steve.

Instead, he says, "You're gonna be fine. It's gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay." And then he's not sure which one of them starts crying first.

The rest of that day is spent pretty much the same way. Steve will be himself for a little while, but then he'll spiral downwards, forgetting again. One time, he even thinks that he and Bucky are on their honeymoon, but not once does he ever mention Peggy. Bucky should feel bad for not feeling bad about that.

The next day, Steve doesn't forget at all, but he throws up at least twenty times. There's so many sores on both of their bodies. Bucky only cries once. He calls it a personal victory. That night though, he starts shaking and doesn't stop. Steve holds him and peppers kisses all over his face.

Bucky thinks he knows what love is. Maybe in another time and place things could've turned out better for the two of them.

His head hurts again. And he recognizes his signs of kidney failure. He gives himself a day at the most. He forgets what his family looks like.

"Mom?" Bucky cries out, but Steve's face hovers over him and it hurts. It hurts so bad. "I want my mom."

"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart."

Steve lasts longer than he does—Bucky dies in his arms— though Bucky can't say how much longer. He just hopes he went peacefully.

Steve Rogers was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Maybe in another time.

Maybe in another place.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to be much sadder than I had originally intended. If any of you need counseling after this, I am here for you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!(:


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